Hard Bitten - Chloe Neill [110]
He was saved a response by sudden, high-pitched beeping. He lifted his wrist, revealing a square calculator watch circa 1984.
After tapping its buttons, he smiled guiltily. “I was amazed by the technology when it was revealed, and I haven’t found anything that compares since then. Simple, efficient.”
“Kudos,” I said, trying to stuff the snark as far down as possible.
Charlie stood up again and walked toward me, heading for the door now that he’d concluded his lecture. “I hope it doesn’t seem that I’m trying to irritate you or blame you for her actions. Clearly, she is a woman with free will and the ability to make decisions for herself. But consider the possibility that the actions you undertake—as Sentinel of your House, with all of its appurtenant responsibilities—bear upon her actions, as well.”
I stepped aside, giving him access to the door.
“We do truly wish you the best with your House. We want all the American Houses to succeed, to flourish.”
“I will relay that sentiment to Ethan,” I said politely. Although my silent thoughts were much less polite, as I guessed would be the case for Ethan’s, as well.
“Excellent. Good evening, Merit.”
“Good evening, Charlie.”
He walked out again, an efficient smile on his face and a hop in his step. And in his wake . . . insecurity.
Was he right? Had we prompted Celina’s antics by responding to them? Were vampires drugged and humans dead because we’d encouraged her to act out, to rebel against Cadogan House like an angsty adolescent?
It wasn’t fair to lay the responsibility for Celina’s actions at our door. We’d tried to do right by Cadogan and Chicago, and ultimately she was the one who’d solicited the murders of humans, who’d blackmailed us, and who was now probably behind selling drugs. Those decisions were her own.
Still. Charlie’s accusation gnawed at me. Even if she’d perpetrated the acts, it wasn’t unfathomable to think she’d done it, at least in part, because she was reacting to me and Ethan, trying to rile us up, trying to score in the vampiric chess game she’d created.
I hated the idea of it, hated the thought that the battles we fought on a daily basis were somehow our fault, no matter how good our intentions.
On the other hand, what else could we have done? We couldn’t exactly leave her to her own devices, creating chaos across Chicago just to fulfill her childish craving for attention. We couldn’t have ignored the blackmail attempt or Tate’s threats against us even if we wanted to. It wasn’t like Ethan and I were out and about searching for something to rail against.
Of course we wanted peace and quiet. Of course we wanted to wake in the evening and spend our time training, researching, working to ensure the success of the House—instead of playing defense against the marauders at the gate.
Whatever the drama, whatever her motivations, there was only one thing that was going to solve the Celina problem. Getting her out of Chicago, once and for all.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
DEEP-FRIED PLAUSIBLE DENIABILITY ON A STICK
I needed a break from vampires. I also hadn’t checked in on Mallory in a while, and that definitely needed to be remedied. So when I woke and dressed, I texted her for an update and learned that she and Catcher were training at his gym. Translation: I’d get to watch Catcher torture someone other than me, and I’d get to see Mallory work her magic.
Easy call. I left the House and headed to the Near North Side, where Catcher’s workout space was tucked into another old warehouse. (Converting former warehouses into playrooms for vampires and other sups was apparently the new trend in Chicago.)
I hardly needed to sneak out of the House. Darius had pulled us off the V investigation, so there wasn’t going to be much need for me to stick around. And my conversation with Ethan last night had raised uncomfortable questions about me and my hypocrisy that I wasn’t keen to face. I knew we’d talk eventually; there was likely no avoiding it. But it didn’t have to be right now.
But avoider though I might have been,